A Breakdown In Happiness
by ChildrenOfTheBarricades
Summary: An exploration of Raoul and Christine's lives during the unseen 10 years. Starting at the last scene of POTO and ending with the start of LND. (Raoul-friendly)
1. Two Kisses

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with either POTO or LND. I only own my love of both shows (yup – both!) and my headcanons – which is basically what this fanfic is.**

**A/N: This fanfic is fairly Raoulcentric and WILL be Raoul-friendly. Unsurprising really, seeing as how I like Raoul more than Erik (the Phantom) and really don't think M'sieur le Vicomte deserves nearly as much hate as he gets. So yeah. If Raoul-bashing is the thing you enjoy, you ain't gonna find it here. Sorry.**

**1. Two Kisses**

Raoul stared in disbelief as he watched the love of his life spin his worst enemy round and kiss him full on the lips, the pain in his neck from the ever-tightening noose momentarily forgotten. He could see the Phantom's eyes were wide open, and a similar expression of disbelief was etched on his disfigured face. Raoul glared furiously at the Phantom, then gave a small strangled sigh as he realized he was being ignored. Finally, Christine pulled back and Raoul watched with a hint of impatience as the two deciders of his fate gazed into each other's eyes. Thoughts on what had just happened whirled through his head.

Christine had kissed the Phantom. Did that mean she'd chosen to spare Raoul's life and stay with her "Angel"? Or...was it a kiss goodbye? Raoul was almost certain it was the former. In which case...the Phantom would let him go and he would spend as long as it took getting Christine away from the monster. But he couldn't do anything stuck in a noose like this; it was all he could do to keep _breathing_. First, the Phantom had to let him go. And if he was a man of his word, which Raoul was sure of, he _would_ let him go. Just as soon as he stopped gazing at Christine, he would come over and pull the infernal rope from Raoul's neck. Raoul was certain. Any second now...

Moments later he let out a strange noise somewhere between a cry and a whimper as Christine moved her hands up to cup the Phantom's cheeks and kissed him again. And this time, Raoul noticed the Phantom surrender himself to the kiss, closing his eyes and wrapping his shaking arms around Christine's slim waist to pull her even closer. However, if only the Phantom had kept his eyes open, he might have felt a wave of triumph at the sight of the young Vicomte closing his eyes tight and hanging his head as far as the noose allowed, despair replacing the previous expression of disbelief. For, at that moment, both men had exactly the same thought running through their minds:

_Two kisses. Christine had given two kisses._

For one man, this thought opened a world of hope; for the other, it only opened a pit of darkness. One kiss could have been explained simply: Christine was merely using the kiss in order to show the Phantom she accepted his offer for Raoul's freedom. Or she was attempting to instill some sense of human kindness into the Phantom, a way to bargain both her life and the life of her fiancé. One kiss could be explained. But two... Two kisses could only mean one thing: even if Christine hadn't realized it, her allegiance had changed; she actually had feelings for the Phantom. And to Raoul - who had followed her, it seemed to him, into Hell and to his possible and, indeed, almost certain death, all out of love and devotion to her - that thought filled him with absolute ice-cold dread. He was almost unaware that the intimate moment had ended and that the Phantom was standing right in front of him with a lit candle in his hand until he raised his head and glared into those piercing eyes.

For a long time they gazed at each other, ice facing fire and Christine looked on nervously. There was an unknown connection between the two men – the connection shared between a hunter and his prey at the moment of victory. Both men knew that, whatever the final outcome of this, Christine had finally made a choice. And no matter how much Raoul could, and _would_, show his affection and love to her, and no matter how he might wish with all his heart that his feelings could alter hers, she would always remain under her Angel's spell. The Vicomte's eyes flicked to the candle clutched in the Phantom's hand. How he wished at that instant that the madman would just set fire to him and end it all then and there. Maybe the Phantom saw the wish in Raoul's eyes...maybe he had already reached the conclusion that it was the best way to punish the boy... Whatever the reason, he reached up and, with a single swipe, he burned through the rope and watched with an almost invisible smirk as Raoul dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. Wordlessly, the Phantom bent down and grasped the dripping collar of the boy's shirt and dragged him up, throwing him towards Christine.

Raoul barely glanced at Christine as she caught and steadied him; his mind was far too preoccupied with the image of her giving the Phantom a second kiss. As breath returned to him, so did anger. He turned and lunged back at the madman, deaf to his orders to leave him there in his hellish world. It was only the distant feel of Christine's hands on his arms that gave the rage-filled Vicomte any form of restraint – no matter what her feelings, Christine was still a girl and she had been through so much tonight; witnessing a murder would surely be too much for her... At least Raoul cared about her enough to spare her that, he thought with a touch of bitter smugness. And so, instead of tearing the deformed man limb from twisted limb, the Vicomte allowed himself to be dragged from the lair and towards the boat moored at the edge of the lake, and there he promptly busied himself with readying the boat for them to leave. It wasn't until he turned round to offer Christine assistance with getting into the boat that he realized she had disappeared back into the lair.

Growling to himself, he retraced his steps and watched from the shadows as Christine handed a ring to the Phantom and kissed his hand. She was sobbing. Finally, she turned away from her Angel and Raoul stepped forward. To her credit, if she was surprised to see him waiting there for her, she did not show it. Nor did she try to hide her tears. Raoul reached out a hand towards her. All three of them gathered there knew: this was her final choice. Christine hesitated, looking at the man that had never shown her anything but love, and slowly looked back at the Phantom. Raoul felt his heart crack as she looked back, and felt it crumble into a thousand pieces as the Phantom gave a small nod to her. He should be feeling elated; he had achieved what he had set out to do – Christine was leaving with him. Yet it was not a victory. For Raoul knew, that instant when the monster had nodded his permission for her to leave, when Christine had looked back – he had known at the moment she had given two kisses – that Christine would never see him as anything more than an obstacle. An obstacle to her true love. As Raoul led her away from her Angel, he saw their future pass before his eyes, and his soul sank.


	2. Unspoken Tensions

**(A/N: Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. I feel loved! Also, I guess you may have worked it out but this is based on the 25****th**** Anniversary concert of POTO (for relationships and how the characters look and act etc), partly cos it makes sense since Ramin and Sierra were in LND, and partly cos Hadley!Raoul is, quite frankly, the best Raoul I've ever seen. No one can say that guy was a wimp... Or a fop. But Raoul's not a fop anyway so...*shrug*)**

**(PS This chapter is from Christine's POV. So there may be a hint of Raoul-bashing... Not that I'm condoning it. At all. *hugs Raoul*)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I only own...not much...**

**2. Unspoken Tensions**

Christine Daaé could barely suppress a sigh as she gazed out of the window. It had been almost three weeks since the incident at the Opera, the first and only performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_, and Christine had barely set foot out of the de Chagny family home since Raoul had brought her here after their escape. She supposed it was only lucky that there was no one in the household who would have asked any awkward questions – now that both his parents, and his brother, were dead, the house belonged to Raoul. And of course, the servants all knew their places enough to avoid asking anything.

And so, Christine sat alone on the decorated window seat in the main sitting room, her hands constantly smoothing down the skirt of her dress. It really wasn't fair, she thought. Raoul had not been the same since that night; he had become...distant, commanding, and prone to excessive frowning. Frowning really didn't suit him; his face was much more built for smiling – his whole face would light up when he smiled, and darken awfully when he frowned. No, her Angel's face was the one that was suited to frowning. With a face as horribly scarred as that, it couldn't be suited to anything else. Christine sighed again as she thought about her Angel. Whenever she tried to bring up the subject to Raoul, he would avoid answering her and an uncomfortable silence would fall between the two of them until one of them changed the subject to something else. She couldn't understand why Raoul still seemed to hold the man in such hostile regard: he had let them both go, had he not? And without any wounds. Well, there had been a mark on Raoul's neck from that rope which had meant he'd had to wear his cravat a little higher than usual for a few days afterwards, but apart from that they were both unharmed. Shouldn't Raoul be grateful to her Angel for that fact, as she was? And it was certainly not worth keeping her trapped in this house, grand as it was. He had said it was to keep her safe, until they could be certain the monster was gone. "Monster"... The word had made her burn inside, though she said nothing to Raoul on the subject. She had learned, whenever she attempted to correct him in his language towards her Angel, he would merely close his eyes and wince as though he was in great pain. Though Christine hated to think badly of her self-appointed protector, she was getting rather tired of these devices and longed to go back to the Opera...

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of the front door opening and she instinctively looked round, a half-formed whispered word on her lips. "Ang—?" Raoul came through into the living room, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling and a nervous smile on his face. Christine swallowed the feeling of disappointment that was flooding through her and she turned to him. He breathlessly made his announcement – that he had been out visiting the local church and it was agreed that they could be wed there a week from Tuesday – and waited with an anxious, yet happy, look to see how she would react to the news. As she knew was expected from her, Christine beamed her brightest smile, stood up and ran into Raoul's arms, hugging him tightly. It was only when her head rested on his shoulder and her face was turned away from him that she allowed her sorrow at the news to show on her face. If her mind had been in any doubt before, it wasn't now. She had to see her Angel again. Before she was tied to Raoul forever. She had to see her Angel again.

**(And we all know where that idea ends up leading her... Anyways. For those who don't know, the mention of Raoul's family - in Leroux's book, Raoul's mother died in childbirth, his father died when Raoul was 12 and his older brother, Philippe, was killed during the events of POTO. He drowned in the lake under the Opera in mysterious circumstances... Raoul has 2 older sisters and an aunt but since they don't even have names, there seemed no point to include them in this story... Anyway. Please R&R!)**


	3. Slippery Slopes

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm getting no money, don't bother suing me it's not worth your time.**

**3. Slippery Slopes**

Raoul sat in his favourite armchair in his study, staring blankly at the fire as the flames cast a dark flickering light on the room. He had been married to Christine for a month – one month of talking, desperately reasoning with her to let him at least sleep in the same bed as her. It was a husband's right to show how much he loved his wife. More than that, it would at least set his mind at rest. Ever since their wedding day, when young Meg Giry – whom he had appointed to keep watch outside Christine's room on the days before the wedding, in case the monster might try anything – had clasped his arm after the ceremony, looked at him with eyes filled with shame and regret and had whispered the words "I'm so sorry" to him before being whisked away by her mother. The Girys had vanished soon after, but Meg's final words to him had left Raoul's mind whirling in doubt. A doubt that was only intensified when Christine had again and again refused to let him in her bed.

The young Vicomte curled up in his chair, tucking his legs under him and wrapping his arms around himself. Had he not offered her everything? Everything he had to offer? Why wasn't it enough for her? If his wife hadn't been directly above him, asleep, he might have howled in despair. As it was, he had to be satisfied with a few silent tears slowly making their way down his cheeks, and a quick sniff. With a shaking hand, he reached out towards the bottle of brandy sitting on his desk and grasped it by neck. He cradled it for a while, briefly contemplating what he was about to do. He had drunk before, of course he had; one could not be a Vicomte, expected to attend all the best social events in Paris, and not drink. But he had never drunk like this. He had never drunk with the intention of _getting _drunk. But maybe...just maybe this could be the very thing that would help the feeling of empty despair that had overtaken him.

So Raoul drank. He drank gulp after gulp from the bottle, and by the time it was half-empty, he had to admit he was feeling a little better. At least, the emptiness had been replaced with numbness. He no longer felt anything, and it satisfied him. Between taking gulps of drink, Raoul would keep staring at the fire. He kept telling himself, just keep staring at the fire and the Phantom would burn away. All thoughts of the Phantom would burn away, from his mind _and _hers. She would forget him, and then she would love her husband instead. She _had _to...

As more tears threatened to fall, Raoul dragged his wrist across his eyes and shook his head, sitting back up straight. The Phantom was gone, dead, killed that night back at the Opera by the mob. He buried Meg's confession that all they had been able to find was his mask, as well as everything else: Meg's words at the wedding, Christine's look of hope whenever he entered the house and her brief expression of disappointment when she saw her husband there, the people's constant looks of sorrow mixed with a healthy dose of pity whenever he visited the Opera – everything that might suggest anything the slightest bit contrary to his concocted story of the Phantom's death was locked away in the deepest unreachable depths of his mind and he threw the key into the heart of the fire in front of him. Nodding slightly to himself, he took a final gulp of drink and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Seeing it was nearly a quarter to one in the morning, he decided he had better go to bed and pushed himself up from the chair, gripping to the arms as the world swum.

Once he was certain he had his balance, he turned and stumbled back in shock as he saw his wife standing there in her white nightdress, looking like a goddess as the firelight mingled with the moonlight and the very air around her seemed to shine. He blinked heavily several times and staggered towards her, peering at her closely to check she really was standing there and wasn't just some vision of his drink-fogged mind. Christine was looking at the floor and when she raised her head to look at him, Raoul saw a deep sorrow in her eyes and wild desperation in her face. Her arm was strangely cradling her stomach, as though she was afraid of anything touching it. As Raoul opened his mouth to speak, Christine gently pressed her finger against his lips and carefully held him close, whispering in his ear. "Raoul...husband...please, be with me tonight?" Wordlessly, the Vicomte nodded and picked up his young wife, carrying her upstairs. With every step he took, he felt a weight disappear from him and he thought, with a small smile of happiness, that his luck must now have changed.

**(Poor Raoul... He really is the only character I've ever come across where I just want to hug him and say everything's gonna be alright. But thanks to an Erik-loving ALW, it's not gonna be alright... Sigh... Anyway, please R&R. It makes me happy.)**


	4. Denying Truths

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own POTO, and neither do you. (Probably not, anyway...)**

**4. Denying Truths**

Raoul sighed and let his head fall back against the back of his chair as the sound of a child's tantrum rang through the large house. Honestly, he didn't know if all babies cried as much as little Gustave did, or if he and Christine had just got lucky. Or unlucky... Running his hands through his hair despairingly, he listened and prayed that someone would calm the boy down before it was left up to him to do it himself. Any time when Raoul was forced into interaction with the child, the mere thought of it terrified the Vicomte.

Try as he might – and he _had _tried – he simply couldn't feel any connection to Gustave. Nothing at all. There had been nothing when the woman the doctor had sent to assist with the birth had passed the newborn child to him, and now five months later, there was still nothing. Surely, Raoul thought to himself, surely there had to be something...some feeling of joy or pride or love... But all Raoul ever felt when he looked at Gustave was a feeling of resentment. The kind of feeling he'd had when he was a boy playing with one of Philippe's carved toy soldiers – Philippe had never cared for them; why didn't they belong to Raoul instead? The feeling always made Raoul uncomfortable and so he quickly found ways to limit the time he spent around the child.

Finally, the noise of the crying stopped and Raoul could hear Christine's soothing voice coming from the next room. Quite inexplicably, Raoul suddenly felt a deep wave of sadness wash over him and he reached for the bottle that was now always on his desk. Christine thought he didn't notice the looks she gave him every time it was left to her to calm the child down; she thought he didn't care... He knew it. Well, he did. At least, he cared as much as it was possible to care. It broke his heart that every time he looked in Gustave's face he found nothing of himself reflected there; that the last time he had tried calming the boy down during one of his tantrums he had been rewarded with nothing but a battered ribcage, courtesy of the child's flailing fists and feet.

As Raoul drank, his mind drifted back to the day Christine had announced her pregnancy to him. He had ignored the all-too-familiar sense of doubt inside him and had been truly happy at the news. At last, it seemed to him that they could finally get on with their lives. As a family. Those seven-and-a-half – even now that fact still bothered him – months between her announcement and Gustave's birth had been the happiest months Raoul had experienced in a long time. He and Christine had spent their days deciding names, planning the life their child would have, and he had personally converted their second sitting room into a playroom for the expected child... Raoul took another gulp and wiped his eyes, clearing the tears that were building inside them. He knew it was probably wicked of him to wish such a thing but he couldn't help it. He wished with all his might that Gustave hadn't been born, that he and his wife could just spend eternity in those months of planning and preparation. Or, if the child had to be born, that he would be born differently. Not too differently, so that Christine would still adore him as much as she adored the boy now, but different enough. Different enough so that Raoul could feel certain – so that he was sure no one else could claim Gustave as his own, except him.

**(Eh... I'm not overly thrilled with this chapter. I knew what I wanted to write but I couldn't seem to get it down on paper... Anywho. Basically, this is just because honestly I don't think Raoul was stupid enough to be totally convinced that he was Gustave's father. And just so you're aware, this idea will be expanded on in later chapters so if you like idiot!Raoul, you might wanna stop here.)**


	5. Unraveling

**A/N: This chapter is a lot longer than the others and quite dialogue-heavy. Also, neither Christine or Raoul come off in a good light in this, but I can only hope I give each of them justification for behaving the way they do. (Well...Raoul anyway. Christine is just...Christine. And I don't really like her, so...)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO, don't own anything.**

**5. Unraveling **

Christine sat in her chair by the fire, staring blankly at the clock on the mantelpiece as the seconds ticked by. Raoul should have been home hours ago, he'd promised her. _Not that his promises mean much anymore,_ she thought bitterly. Raoul's drinking had got steadily worse over the last three years, and though she had often tried talking about it to him, he simply refused to listen. Now it seemed he was getting into the habit of spending all night out at a bar somewhere. As the clock chimed twice, she jumped slightly and blinked, realizing with a shock that it was already two o'clock in the morning. _Well, if he's not home yet, he's not coming home at all tonight_. She sighed heavily and stood, sweeping out of the room and going towards the stairs.

Just as she had begun going up the stairs, there was a loud clatter outside. Frowning, she went to the door and, after a moment of hesitation, quietly opened it and looked outside. The night was pitch black and Christine strained her eyes in the darkness. Just as she opened her mouth to call for her husband, she heard a sharp cry of pain and a low voice hissing in the quiet night. Christine remained still and silent, now straining her ears as well as her eyes. Now, she could see two figures in the street just outside the house and could hear odd words and phrases of their conversation – one voice low and menacing, the other higher and often trembling. "You owe me money."

The other man mumbled something and Christine crept forwards slightly to hear what he was saying. "...one more day...sell my horses...please..." Christine sighed and covered her eyes in shame as she recognized the trembling voice. Not wishing to hear anymore, she silently turned and slinked back inside the house, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase as she waited. Presently, there was another cry and shortly after came the sound of someone stumbling up to the door.

Raoul leant against the door and yelped as it swung open, causing him to collapse on his back. Tilting his head slightly he blinked as he saw his wife sitting there on the stairs, looking at him with an expression of unamused embarrassed contempt. As quickly as he could, Raoul rolled over and pushed himself up into what was almost a kneeling position, looking up at Christine guiltily – like a young boy caught stealing a biscuit. Realising that even though he was now somewhat upright she was still glaring daggers at him, Raoul fiddled with his waistcoat. "I-I'm home," he said stupidly, the words slurring as they came out of his mouth.

"Yes. Home." Raoul flinched at the cold tone of her voice. "Home at two in the morning and too drunk to stand. What a wonderful husband you are!"

Even in his drunken state, Raoul was still able to detect the sarcasm in her voice and he frowned, waving his hand as the door as if he possessed a magical ability to close the door without physically touching it. After his third attempt, he crawled closer to the door and waved his hand again, catching the edge of it with his fingertips, and it swung closed. Nodding proudly to himself, he turned back to Christine and frowned. "Don't...don't talk to me like that..."

Christine fought the urge to roll her eyes and she stood up quickly, turning away from him. "That's enough, Raoul. I'm going to bed."

Raoul rubbed his head and frowned heavily. "W-wait!" He watched as she slowly stopped and turned round. In his mind, she looked like an angel gazing down on him, judging him. He raised his hands in front of his head as if he was protecting himself from an attacker. "Please...I am a good husband. I am, I know I am."

This time, Christine couldn't resist rolling her eyes as she scoffed. "Getting drunk, staying out all night, neglecting your son... And now it seems you've started gambling as well!" Raoul ducked his head and mumbled something inaudibly, causing Christine to sigh irritably. "What was that?"

There was a pause as Raoul slowly lowered his arms and looked up at Christine, his eyes glistening with tears. "I would never neglect _my _son." He saw the blood drain from Christine's face and a few tears escaped from his eyes. "My son would be the best-treated little boy in France...and you know it!"

Christine swallowed and focused all her energy on keeping her voice steady. "Raoul. You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do!" Raoul thumped his fist on the floor in frustration and the tears were now flowing freely down his face. "And you do too!" He pushed himself up off the floor and stood on unsteady legs, leaning a hand against the wall for support. "Please...all I want is for you to admit it. Just...tell me the truth. For once in your life, tell me the truth! If..if you don't love me, at least respect me..."

Christine watched as her husband seemed to crumble and started to sob uncontrollably. She slowly walked down the stairs and went over to him, slowly wrapping her arms around him as he clung to her. She hesitated before stroking his hair soothingly as she whispered to him. "Raoul...you need to go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning, and you'll stop getting these silly doubts about Gustave." She kissed his forehead as he let out a soft whimper. "It will be okay, I promise. We'll sort out all your...gambling and drinking...and we'll spend time together. The three of us. As a family." She gently guided him into the living room and laid him down on the couch. She knelt beside him, removing his coat, jacket and shoes and picked up the rug that lay beside the fireplace, covering him with it.

Raoul remained lying completely still, crying silently. Curling up under the blanket, he almost felt like his heart was breaking as Christine's words washed over him. "Do you remember...the night the chandelier came down?" Christine frowned and looked at him, and he gazed back sadly. "On the roof of the Opera...you asked me to love you. I said I did and always would." He looked away from her and rolled onto his side. "What did you say when I asked the same of you?" He closed his eyes and let Christine's silence lull him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**(It's interesting, the things you notice after listening to something over and over. Like Christine never actually saying she loved Raoul during AIAOY. She demands things of him and never seems to give him anything back... Poor Raoul...)**


	6. If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of the characters or anything to do with POTO/LND...I would not be wasting my time writing fanfics about them...**

**6. If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On**

It was still quite early when Gustave de Chagny jumped out of bed and raced downstairs to the sitting room. It was the boy's sixth birthday and he couldn't wait to see what his mother had got for him as a present. His heart was practically bursting with hope as he paused outside the closed door. Closing his eyes tight shut, he whispered a quiet wish into the empty air around him and kept his eyes closed as he pushed open the door and shuffled into the room.

As he slowly cranked open one eye, he let out a whoop of excitement and happiness and jumped into the air, both eyes now firmly wide open. He kept whooping and laughing as he ran across the room and scrambled up onto the large stool which stood in front of the piano. The boy grinned from ear to ear as his small fingers stroked the ivory keys softly. Ever since he had seen the instrument six months ago when his mother had taken him with her to the market, he had begged and pleaded and wished and prayed with all his might to be allowed to have it. His father had just frowned and sternly refused, but Gustave wasn't surprised. His father was always saying no to him. But his mother... Gustave thought that his mother wouldn't ever say no to him about anything. And the fact he now had this present was proof. The boy tucked his legs under him as he knelt on the stool and closed his eyes, letting his fingers move over the keys as he played, notes pouring out of soul and into his hands as they controlled his movements. He smiled to himself. This music sounded so...beautiful. He could hardly believe it was him playing it.

Raoul stood in the doorway, watching silently as the boy continued to play, unaware of his father's presence. Raoul looked at Gustave and frowned. He had tried so hard to stop the boy discovering this side of himself – even having endless arguments about it with Christine. And now it seemed she had ignored his fears and wishes and had gone behind his back. He was no longer sure if she did it on purpose or whether she was really so naïve about the effect her actions had on him. It seemed to Raoul that she was barely one step away from telling both of them the truth. While he would naturally feel relieved and thankful that she was finally being honest with him, he still couldn't bear the thought of it. And how would the boy react..? Had she considered that? No, it was better for everyone that things stayed as they were. But now that Gustave was able to embrace his natural musical talent, it seemed there was little left of him that Raoul could even try to connect with...

There was no way he could pretend he had helped to get the piano. Gustave would never believe him; he had said no to the boy too many times before. And so the boy would still feel closer to his mother...and hate him. Raoul sighed quietly and closed his eyes in despair, leaning against the wall. He couldn't understand it. Christine had snapped at him many times for not seeming to care enough about the child, then when he tried to she merely twisted the situation so that she could seem to be an angel...

Of course, the child being musically gifted could be explained away: his mother obviously was, and Raoul...there was always his violin. He had thought many times over the years about his old violin gathering dust in the attic, but he couldn't play anymore. There were too many memories associated with it, and all of them tainted by the Phantom into something unbearable. But still, he could play if he wanted to... Raoul sighed again as he listened to the boy's music. He recognized it, of course he did. Anyone who had ever heard the Phantom's compositions would. He felt a tear crawl down his cheek and realized he no longer had the effort to wipe it away.

**(A/N: Because I can foresee a lot of weirdness about the violin...yes, Raoul can play the violin, and yes, this is canon. Don't believe me? Read the original novel. Included this simply because I'm fed up of people (*cough*obsessive-Erik-phangirls*cough*) saying that Raoul doesn't belong with Christine because he's not musical. He **_**is**_** musical!)**


	7. Nobody Needs To Know

**(A/N: Gah! Okay. So this chapter hurts me. Like, really really hurts me. This is the stupidest thing I've ever had Raoul do. Really, the only reason this is even in here is because some people (mainly obsessive-Erik-phangirls and/or Love Should Die people) insist this actually happens. Me, I'm not so sure, but to keep them happy (Supreme Being knows why I even bother) this has become part of my headcanon... But I hate it...)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but the clothes on my back. **

**7. Nobody Needs To Know**

Raoul stood in the shadows by the imposing building, looking around in mild disgust. He supposed it was a testament to his character that he had managed go almost 30 years without once visiting this place. He knew it was certainly longer than most men managed. But then, what did it say about him now he had come here...? He sighed as his thoughts drifted back to his wife and the 7 year old back at home. He knew Christine would have Gustave tucked up in bed by now – _dreaming up new tunes to play on that damned piano_, he thought bitterly – but he couldn't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, she still cared enough to wait up for him. She knew about his gambling... Did she care enough to worry when he was out late? Wonder whether he was in trouble?

Almost as quickly as the hope entered his mind, the dismal surroundings and reality of his situation set about extinguishing it. Of course she didn't care. They hadn't shared a bed in almost a year; not since their last fight over his debts. Why the hell should she care about him? He was nothing to her. He never had been since that night years ago, underneath the Opera. He dragged his wrist across his eyes, wiping away a tear that had just begun to form, and took a long gulp from the bottle that now seemed to be permanently clutched in his fist. It was strange to think that just 7 years ago, he had been so happy, so naïve enough to believe he would live a perfect life. How times changed...

He was broken out of his thoughts by the low sound of a woman's voice and he took a deep breath before taking the girl's hand and letting her lead him to a small filthy room, with a wooden bed and stained mattress. Raoul wrinkled his nose at the sight and frowned as the girl lit a candle close to her and he saw her illuminated. Thin straw-coloured hair, matted with dirt, that fell in lank clumps around a pale gaunt face, which had been garishly painted to resemble something close to beauty in the shadows; a dress with rips that seemed almost strategic in their locations, which clung to an unhealthily thin body. The more Raoul looked at her, the more differences he noticed. Her eyes were too sunken, her skin was too pale, her body was too thin, her hands were too shaky, her manner was too passive; everything about her seemed to scream warnings at Raoul that he shouldn't be here, that this poor girl was not Christine...

As the girl moved towards the bed, he caught her wrist and released her just as quickly as she instinctively jerked away from him. Wordlessly, he merely shook his head and pressed the expected amount of money into her trembling hand and backed away towards the door, an apologetic look in his eyes. The girl stared at him, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes as she quickly slipped a couple of coins into a torn seam in the mattress. Raoul watched her for a moment before turning and fleeing the miserable place. It wasn't until he was back amidst the lights of the inner city that he stopped for breath and tried to regain his composure. He straightened his waistcoat and jacket and smoothed down his windswept hair before turning and slowly heading back home. The least he could do to show his love for his wife was to spare her the pain of infidelity. It was his job to be hurt by that.


End file.
